


Mirrors, Magic and Miscreants

by Ladderofyears



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Regency, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst with a Happy Ending, Astoria Greengrass Gets Her Happy Ending Too, Boys In Love, Boys Kissing, Discussion of Arranged Marriages, H/D Fan Fair 2019, Happy Ending, Highwayman Harry Potter, Lucius Malfoy Being an Asshole, M/M, Magical Regency Era, Mirror Maker Draco Malfoy, Period Typical Attitudes, Period Typical Bigotry, Pining Draco Malfoy, Secondary Theme: Book Fair, Self-Acceptance, Threats of Violence, True Love's Kiss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-29
Updated: 2019-11-29
Packaged: 2020-10-21 03:57:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20687126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ladderofyears/pseuds/Ladderofyears
Summary: Magical Regency AU.Lord Draco Malfoy, heir to the Dukedom of Wiltshire is the finest Magical Mirror Maker in the whole of England.He can create any mirror you might possibly desire; ones that give advice, that can tell you that you're beautiful or can tell you the truth.But there is one truth that Draco simply cannot face, however, and that is who he really is. Draco believes that he can willingly give up his life-long preference for other men and submit to his father, Duke Lucius's wish: that he marry the pretty Miss. Greengrass, and gain her respectability (and dowry).But, on the evening of Lady Pansy's Spring Ball, two strange encounters mean the world will change forever for Lord Draco.He meets the most unpleasant Viscount Black-Evans, who challenges Draco to make him a mirror, one that shows the viewer the person he would gain the most sexual gratification from. Later that night, Lord Draco and Miss. Greengrass are robbed at wand-point by an alluring highwayman, who asks for a special treasure...A single kiss from Draco's soft, plump lips to send him on his way.Will Draco have the courage to realise who he really is, and find the life that he deserves?





	Mirrors, Magic and Miscreants

**Author's Note:**

> For Prompt #[37](https://docs.google.com/document/d/16er_sVwwFtbVQxtiFqHRWhw09kwNYhywsB-R48qtVPU/edit#).
> 
> Thank you to my wonderful prompter, the Mods for this superb fest and my partner for putting up with my obsession. Also, thank you Adam Ant for the inspiration! 
> 
> Terminology:  
Haut Ton: slang term for fashionable society  
Coup d'état: illegal seizure of power by a dictator.  
Molly Houses: the eighteenth century equivalent of gay bars/safe spaces.  
Mollyboys/ Mols: eighteen century slang term that preceded gay as a way to describe men who loved other men.

Lord Draco Lucius Malfoy, heir apparent to the Dukedom of Wiltshire, and one of the wealthiest and best know wizards in all of England, carefully scrutinised the mirror before him. It was the _piece de resistance_ of his latest collection; the Veritas Frame, and she was charmed always to tell the truth.

Draco felt sure that this mirror would be quite the talking point amongst the _Haut Ton_ for many weeks to come. He only wished his mirror could occasionally be a little more straightforward with her answers. This girl always tended to need a little creative deciphering but that, unfortunately, was the was way of magical mirrors. They did always tend to have a mind, and a voice of their very own. Draco frowned, wiping a careful finger across the side of the gilt frame.

Should he move her to the very centre of the room? Draco decided not. The mirror was perfect where she already hung, sparkling under the evening sun. Taking out his wand from his sleeve, the young Lord gave it a small swirl and the Veritas Frame glowed a luminous purple.

“Mirror, mirror, on the wall,” Draco asked, addressing the shimmering figure that had appeared within the frame, “will I be successful at tonight’s Ball?”

“_Attending the Ball will change your life_,” the mirror answered, “_but be prepared for surprise and strife. Lord Draco, your life is going to change. Don’t worry if it feels shocking or strange_.”

The Veritas Frame was Draco’s greatest work to date, and he felt sure that it would sell for many Galleons. Not that Draco was motivated by money: he had never wanted for anything during his nineteen years on the Earth. Since leaving Hogwarts two years before he had worked hard to set up his _Magical Mirror Emporium_, crafting a product that was only available to the most elite, upper-crust few within Magical Society.

His father, Lord Lucius, Duke of Wiltshire was, of course, disgusted by Draco’s endeavours within business. To him, Draco’s mirrors carried the rank scent of trade, of new money. His unwavering opinion was that any Malfoy who used his hands to earn money was utterly _declasse_, and a terrible shame on his pure-blooded forebears.

Draco was allowed to create his mirrors only on sufferance. He was forbidden to negotiate sales at the _Magical Mirror Emporium_ himself, and was forced to rely on his manager, Mr. Blaise Zabini _Esq_. instead. Quite honestly, it was source of great frustration for Draco, but there was very little the man could do. His father, always a disagreeable, belligerent man held both the purse strings and Draco’s future in his hands.

“Draco,” said a familiar voice beside him, “you’re worrying. You really _mustn’t_. I recognise that face from when we were children, love. Tonight will be perfectly wonderful, and the Veritas Frame will be a huge success… All your mirrors will be, I promise. They are quite the most popular _object d’art_ in the wizarding world”

Draco was pulled from his swirl of throughts by the smiling face of Lady Pansy Nott, _nee_ Parkinson.

The best-friend of Draco’s childhood, the pair of them had been inseparable until the age of eleven. Draco, like all male wizards had travelled to Hogwarts to be educated but Pansy been forced to stay at home, taught to be a good, pure-blood wife by her mother and a series of governesses. She had made a fine marriage to to Theodore Nott, a fellow Slytherin but had remained Draco’s steadfast friend and patron. Draco loved her with all of his heart.

It had been her idea to launch the Veritas Frame and all of his latest creations at her home, under the hidden guise of a Spring Ball. Lady Pansy was to host, and she had kindly given over her gallery space to house his collection.

Draco was more grateful to her than he could express. A traditional exhibition would have been strictly forbidden by Duke Lucius, who would have despised the both vulgar publicity and the scribblers from the _Prophet_ and _Quibbler_ broadsheets. Duke Lucius loathed the sight of the Malfoy name in the papers; the mere thought made him almost apoplectic with rage.

“Your kind words are much appreciated, Lady Pansy,” Draco said, taking her hand and kissing her fingers. “I only wish that the Veritas Frame could be a little less oblique in her answers. She’s told me I am to suffer strife and surprise tonight. I can only hazard a guess that Father will learn of our little deception. He’ll not spare his words in the fury, I’m sure of that.”

“Lucius Malfoy doesn’t scare me,’ Pansy replied in a refined voice. She took hold of Draco’s proffered arm, and they took in at each of the pieces in turn. “You have been my greatest friend for more years that I can count, and your mirrors are the most exciting items available in the magical world. Part of the joy of marriage is that I am free to use my home as I will… And, if I wish to showcase your work then I _shall_.”

“Ah,” Draco replied, as they stood in front of a mirror charmed to give good advice. “_Marriage_. That is a subject that has been much on my mind. Miss Astoria Greengrass, my betrothed will be in attendance at your Ball tonight. I have gifted her my mother’s Slytherin emerald bracelet as a sign of my steadfast commitment.”

“Marriage, Draco? Really?” Lady Pansy turned to face her best-friend, dark eyes filled with sympathy at Draco’s resigned tone. “Astoria _is_ a renowned beauty… But surely not to your personal taste, so to speak. Surely your proclivities towards the male of our species should put pay to any ideas about marriage? I cannot believe that you would consider such a future. There cannot be joy there, for _either_ party.”

Draco gave Pansy a weak smile. “I’m quite sure that once we are married then I will reign in those vices that I have discussed only with yourself. Take myself in hand. I have pledged to Father to make our union work, and I wouldn’t seek to hurt Miss. Greengrass.”

“Draco Malfoy,” Pansy replied, holding tight to his arm, “I can’t claim to understand those tendencies that cause you such guilt and worry, but I _do_ know a little about marriage. Your union with Astoria Greengrass would have fault-lines from the start were you to go into it denying such a huge part of your own true nature. You owe it to both yourself, and to Astoria, to tell your Father that this wedding _cannot_ occur. Draco, I tell you this only out of kindness… I know my marriage to Theo was arranged from childhood but we found love along the way. I fear that you’ll never be happy in such a traditional bond.”

“I fear that my life has been laid before me in a path that I must follow,” Draco said sadly. “Father will accept my mirrors, and grudgingly accept the presence of the _Magical Mirror Emporium_ on Diagon Alley, but he has told me that this marriage must occur, post haste. It is his only way to re-establish the Malfoy name within society. Since his shameful backing of that _coup d'état_ against the Minister of Magic five years ago, his name has been muddied; bandied about as both traitor and a treasonist… He was lucky to avoid expulsion to the continent, Pans.”

Pansy lent over and pressed a chaste kiss to her best-friends cheek. “Your father’s sins are not yours to rectify, love... I’m just not sure that you, my stunning _beautiful_ love will ever be happy with just a title and an obedient wife. I’ve known since we were children that this wasn’t the life you were made for-”

“Since the day we both discovered our love of your cousin Raphael?” Draco laughed, taking her in his arms, “and we rhapsodised about his _olive_ eyes and _mahogany_ hair? Pansy, I do so wish that my tendencies lay with women, for you would have made the finest wife I could ever imagine sharing my life with.”

“And_ that_, Draco, is precisely why taking any wife is the most awful decision you could possibly take.” Pansy wriggled out of Draco’s arms and took her wand from her perfectly coiffured chignon. “Let’s ask the mirror for her advice shall we? After all, you charmed her to always give the correct answer.”

Pansy turned, and twisted her wand in a small circle.

“Mirror, mirror, please tell me the truth. Should Draco marry a person he meets beneath this roof?”

The mirror glistened a sparkling pink, and a figure appeared within. She spoke in a melodic tone, and gave an enigmatic reply: “_The love of Draco’s life will be at your Ball. But marry them? I advise that’ll won’t happen. Lord Draco will never marry at all_.”

Draco had to grin at that perfectly unfathomable advice.

“Sadly, mirror, I think that I shall. Even if my tendencies run towards the male, the Malfoy-Greengrass wedding will have to happen, of that I’m in little doubt. Astoria will want for nothing in her life, I’ll promise you that much, Pansy. I’ll reign in my vices. Be the paragon of virtue that Father has unwaveringly refused to be himself. Even when Mother was alive, the Manor was crawling with mistresses-”

“Don’t be your Father,” Pansy replied, her manner sober to Draco’s joviality. “Emotional distance is as destructive to a marriage as physical infidelity, _whomever_ you choose to share your body with, be they woman or man… Now, enough of these heavy discussions. It is too fine a day, my love. You need to floo home to the Manor, and put on your finest garments. I’m hosting a Spring Ball for the _crème de la crème_ of the magical world tonight. And I intend for you, Lord Malfoy to be its shining star.”

~@~

Pansy’s Spring Ball was every bit as exquisite as she had promised, and Draco was entirely satisfied that his mirrors were feted and fashionable with the elite of wizarding society.

Pansy had whispered to him during the _entrée_ that there had been several very interested parties that wanted either to purchase a model or had an idea for a commission of their own. This was wonderful news. Draco swore to meet with Blaise before more many more days passed, and discuss what this might mean for their Emporium.

In truth, here really wasn’t any part of the evening that wasn’t pleasing to the eye of Lord Malfoy. Pansy had made the evening entirely her own, with levitating baskets of fresh fruit and the most opulent bonbons ordered specifically from Honeydukes confectioners. At every corner were suited House Elves holding trays of Champagne, and charmed lights flickered delicately in the twilight. A trio of violinists were subtle yet sublime. The wine was of the finest vintage and the witches and wizards alike were fashionably dressed. Indeed, Lady Parkinson-Nott’s Spring Ball looked set to be the most discussed event of the season.

In truth, the only part of the evening that wasn’t pleasing was travelling by muggle carriage. It was necessary though. The newfangled floo was so convenient, but so terribly _filthy_. Perfectly good for day to day travel but less wonderful when one was wearing your finest clothes. Apparition was frowned upon as coarse within his circles, so Draco had collected Astoria in his private coach earlier in the evening.

Miss. Greengrass was quite the perfect pure-blood heiress. Draco was in no doubt she had been prepared for marriage from a young age, and in truth he knew her to be a kind, innocent young lady. He’d been honest to Pansy in their earlier conversation; Draco really did have no wish to hurt her. Draco knew there was much pressure for their union to take place.

Astoria had just begged permission to take a turn around the Ballroom with her sister, Daphne, and Draco took a breath, finally able to clear his head of the entangle of conversation and gossip that was such an integral part of such _soirées_. A vault of Galleons was to come into Duke Lucius’s possession on the completion of their marriage contract, which pleased the covetous Duke greatly. Draco knew his father to be even greedier for the honour that the Greengrass name would return to their family. Draco sighed, unable to see a way out the predicament. For the first time that evening, he was alone.

“Your betrothed is a fine looking witch,” interrupted a voice from a chaise-longue in the corner. “A true beauty. You’re a lucky man, Lord Malfoy.”

Draco wondered at the insolence of this stranger, who would dare to comment on Astoria’s appearance and to comment upon his life in such an impudent manner. The lounging wizard looked to be about the same age as Draco himself, but other revealing features were few and far between.

The stranger wore the height of fashion, and was dressed in a manner befitting the French Wizarding Quarter. He was really quite the spectacle. He wore a purple velvet tailcoat, and matching velvet breeches. Silk ribbons held up his stockings. The man wore a satin waistcoat with a pattern of moon and stars covering every inch, and his shirt was a mass of creamy lace ruffles.

He wore a long, powdered wig that hung down to his shoulders, and his face was coated in a thick layer of rouge. Draco, who was no stranger himself to the vagaries of fashion, was entirely bemused at this fellow wizard. It was patently obvious the man hadn’t been on British shores for long at all.

“Certainly, many have said that I’m lucky,” Draco replied carefully, taking a step closer. “And Miss. Greengrass is indeed comely. A lady of impeccable virtue.”

The wizard gave an unpleasantly loud laugh, and stood, isolating Draco in the corner away from the rest of the Ball. Draco felt an uneasy stirring in the pit of his stomach. This wasn’t any man that he knew from Society, and nor was he a member of any of the London Clubs that Draco frequented. There were still those who hated Duke Lucius, and blamed him for financing the _coup d'état_ years before. Was he at risk? Draco fumbled for his wand, hidden inside his sleeve…

“Do not fret, Lord Malfoy,” whispered the stranger. His breath was warm in Draco’s ear. “I’m not an assassin, paid to extract revenge. I’m but an interested observer.”

“Interested in _what_, good sir?” Draco hissed, keeping his voice down to avoid a scene. “You don’t seem to be in anyone's company tonight. Are you looking for introductions? I can assure you-”

“_Hush_,” interrupted the foppish wizard. “I’ve no need of introductions, nor any interest in the polite society that you seem to care so much for… My interest is in yourself, Lord Draco Lucius Malfoy. You’ve fascinated me for many months.”

“I hardly believe myself to be fascinating,” scoffed Draco, trying to mock the stranger. It seemed to fall a little flat though, and Draco felt his face redden under intense inspection.

“I disagree.” The man sat down, and Draco found himself falling onto the chaise-longue beside him. “A man who creates the most wondrous mirrors, and yet cannot truly see himself clearly at all. A man who cannot see the truth even as it gazes back towards him. I know the truth about you, Draco Malfoy-”

“What _truth?_” Draco cried, casting his eyes over the assembled company. No person paid him the slightest attention; nothing looked out of the ordinary, but Draco knew that his precious existence teetered on the edge of destruction. “There’s no truth to admit to!”

The stranger laughed once more, that same braying, aggressive sound.

“I know that you are a man who enjoys other men physically. You might think that your life is a closely guarded secret, but I think you simply cannot see the _truth_ about yourself. You enjoy the company, and bodies of Groomsmen, of Valets and Innkeepers. You fall from hayloft to Molly House, over and over again, and somehow believe that this is a part of your life you can _hide_ away from… Something you can just give up forever.”

“You know nothing about me,” Draco hissed. “Nothing about my life or my choices.”

“If I know _so_ little then I'm no threat to you! I challenge you, Lord Malfoy. Humour me. Create me a mirror. One that shows the viewer the person they’ll gain the most sexual satisfaction from. A mirror that cannot lie to the person viewing it, unlike yourself, of course. You are quite proficient in _deception_.”

“And then you’ll leave me alone?” Draco spat out, incandescent with rage. Just who did this overbold, saucy cad think he was? “You sit there in judgement but I’ve no wish for my secrets to be exposed to the world. Men like me hang from the noose in Knockturn Alley. _Damn you_. I’ll make you a mirror, but then you must promised never to darken my door again.”

“Oh, I’ll leave you alone forever, but only on one condition…” The wizard paused, and looked around the room. The _Ton_ of magical high society hummed and moved around them, as delicate as a dance.

“You’ll gaze into the mirror for me, Lord Malfoy… For I have a yearning to see the truth of your heart. See the man who’ll satisfy you the most.”

Before Draco could reply, Pansy and Astoria were upon him, pressing a flute of Champagne into his hands, and twittering with inane gossip. Draco knew he must have looked discomfited though, for Pansy’s honeyed voice quickly halted. His best-friend took in the close seating of the pair of them, and cleared her throat.

“Lord Malfoy,” Pansy said, smoothly, ever the social butterfly, “I’ve been a grievously poor hostess. This fine gentlemen is Viscount Black-Evans, who had graced us with his presence from London. You might not have seen him before, as he’s only been returned to England this past six months. He’s a war hero, Draco! Fought dictatorship during the French Revolution, protecting Wizarding folk from the tyranny of the Guillotine-”

“Lady Pansy, my exploits were naught but tabloid nonsense.” Draco watched as the stranger stood, and bowed to their hostess. “Lord Malfoy and I have already made our acquaintance. He’s agreed to create a one-off piece for me, one which I hope will be _most_ illuminating indeed. But now I’m afraid I must leave your elegant home. I must adieu to London on urgent business.”

Draco winced as the blackguard had the cheek to wink at him as he left their company.

Who was this Black-Evans to question his life and choices? It was quite abominably rude. Draco swore to himself to create the mirror without postponement. He wasn’t about to this foppish Black-Evans have any reason whatsoever to remain in his company longer than was necessary.

Draco sipped the Champagne that he’d been given. He knew this future was waiting: an impeccable marriage, and a newly restored family name to go alongside it. No doubt he’d have a white-blond heir to carry on the family title by the end of the year, and in a few years time the Dukedom would be his too. Why then, did he feel such a creeping sense of dissatisfaction? Annoyed entirely by his interaction with the war hero, Draco finished his Champagne quickly, and took another glass.

Draco felt naked, as if his deepest secrets had been laid bare in front of the great and good of society. Black-Evans had told the truth: Draco _did_ have many lovers, anonymous men who meant very little too him. After all, men such himself were easy to spot; be it a glance that lingered a moment longer than it ought, or a dainty slide of the hips before his eyes. That was usually all the encouragement that Draco needed.

A palmed coin might pass hands, or a coquettish flirtation take place, and then Draco would find himself in the arms of another who shared his tendencies. Draco would take his pleasure, one that many believed made him a deviant, a reprobate that deserved the harshest of punishments. Love, Draco believed, was out of the question. No, wizards such as he were denied the love of another man by a magical society that would sooner see him rot away in Azkaban than be true to his own nature.

Well, Draco, thought. _No matter_. He took another glass from a passing Elf, and sipped it thoughtfully. If fucking was all he was to experience then Draco could readily accept that. He could enjoy the sweet thrill of lust, the heated lips and needy hands that sought to explore and delight his body. But of course, Draco knew that upon his marriage, such behaviours would surely have to end.

The alcohol tasted sour and heavy in his stomach, and it surprised him how much the thought of losing this part of his life pained him.

~@~

By the time Draco was ready to leave Pansy’s Spring Ball, he had drank far more than was advisable. Pansy entreated Draco to stay, to let the House Elves made up a room for him, but a stubborn streak of his personality refused her kind offer.

He’d promised to return Astoria safely to her parents and he was damned if anyone would say a Malfoy broke a promise. Even _if_ that Malfoy was a mincing _Mollyboy_. That damned Black-Evans, Draco thought acerbically, the alcohol in his veins making him resentful and bitter. How _dare_ the dandy stand as judge, jury and executioner, and tell Draco how to conduct his life? The man was a noxious fool.

The night was slowly turning into day, as his carriage was brought to the front of Pansy’s Manor. Stripes of grey morning light filled the coach as it trundled down the drive and Astoria was soon dozing beside him. Draco turned to stare out of the window as the pair of them bumped and jostled through the countryside. Slowly, his anger began to drain away.

The fields were hung with low mist and lines of pink filled the horizon. Draco could feel his body start to relax under the when, abruptly, the horses flailed to a halt.

Beside him, Astoria woke with a jolt and Draco could hear loud, abrasive voices. He felt the coach pitch as his Driver climbed down, and then there was a sudden silence, broken by a loud _Stupefy_ being cast. Draco saw the flash of green light as the spell hit. It was powerful magic, and reverberated against his skin.

“Wait here,” Draco whispered to Astoria, whose eyes were wide in fright. He slipped out his wand and held it in a shaking hand. Draco wasn’t the bravest of men. He knew his limitations; knew himself to have been sorted Slytherin for his tenacity rather than any bravery he might possess, but Draco _was_ a Lord and there were certain standards one must keep up. He bit his lip, marshalling every piece of courage still remaining, and moved for the door.

Unfortunately, as Draco opened the carriage window and peered outside every piece of defensive magic that Draco had ever been taught seemed to utterly desert him. In the centre of the road before them sat a wizard on the largest, jet-black horse he’d ever seen. The wizard held his wand high before him, self-confident and fearsome.

In the very same second that Draco realised in horror that his Driver had been incapacitated, an _Expelliarmus_ rang out. Draco felt his wand being wrenched from his hand, and heard the dull thud of it landing in the wooded ground beside the road. Beside him, Astoria’s wand suffered the same treatment.

“_Merlin_,” Draco rasped, fear bleeding into his voice, “We’re being _robbed_, Astoria. I… I’ve heard what to do… In these situations. Just do what the highwayman says. Exactly what he says. He’ll be gone once he’s taken our valuables.”

Draco peered out of the window, his mouth dry.

The highwayman was tall, with a thick thatch of the wildest hair that Draco thought he had even seen. The criminal had rich, golden skin that had spent long days beneath the sun, and a thin cotton shirt that did little to hide a thick, powerfully muscular torso. He sported a strong, determined chin and a full set of clean, white teeth.

Draco appraised quickly that the wizard wasn’t a man of fashion; his clothes were simple but practical. Thick woollen trews were tucked into heavy leather riding boots that rose over his knees and skimmed powerful thighs. A black silk mask hid his features but couldn’t disguise Absinthe green eyes that burnt into Draco like a flame. Oddly _familiar_ eyes, perhaps? Draco squinted, trying to get a closer look, but then the highwayman gestured his horse over to the carriage and all fanciful thoughts fled from Draco’s mind entirely.

“_Stand and deliver_,” the highwayman announced, his voice softer and more cultured than Draco could ever have imagined, “_your money or your life_.”

Draco looked at the wand clasped lightly in the wizards hands. He thought of those Unforgivable Curses that he’d heard about at Hogwarts; of the _Avada Kedavra_ rumoured to be used on enemies of the state in the French Revolution. He swallowed thickly, unsure of what to do next.

“Come, come, Lord Malfoy,” the robber quipped, a hint of smirk in his voice. “You’re rumoured to be amongst the brightest young bucks in all of England. Surely you cannot be shocked at a little law-breaking such as this? Hand over your valuables and both yourself and your intended can be on your way. You wouldn’t wish for a Stinging Hex to get you moving more speedily now, would you?”

“I don’t believe it’s the place of a lowly dog such as yourself to ask such questions,” Draco answered, his voice quivering even though he’d tried to sound defiant. “My father will hear about this, I assure you! He is one of the greatest Dukes in all of England-”

“Ah, Duke _Lucius_,” answered the highwayman. “Well, if he can see past the haze of his mistresses and his bottles of Port, I suppose I’ll have to worry. Now, be a good man, alter that insolent tone and hand over your valuables. I won’t ask a second time...”

For the first time, the highwayman looked at Astoria.

“That emerald bracelet, milady. I’ll be taking that today. Do not fret, a lady of such beauty as yourself has no need of such trinkets.”

“Draco?” Astoria murmured, her voice tiny. Draco felt pure fury. Who was this highwayman, come to rob and steal with no remorse? He had no wish for Astoria to have suffered such an experience.

“Hand it over,” Draco spat out. “Give this ruffian exactly what he demands. Then he might leave us and return to his den of wickedness.”

The highwayman seemed entirely unfazed by Draco’s colourful imagination. Astoria thrust the emeralds at the robber with trembling fingers. He closed his lithe fingers around the bracelet and slipped it into his pocket in one fluid movement. “And the ring from your finger, Lord Malfoy. Hand that over too.”

“You obstinate felon!” Draco hissed, his hands shaking as he clumsily removed it. “This ring is a family heirloom! It belonged to my Mother. It was in her family for generations.” Draco reluctantly handed it over with a tremble. “Take it all! You’ve had everything. Now go! Leave us be!”

“And that I shall do,” replied the highwayman, laughing as he elegantly pocketed his treasures. “You, Lord Draco Malfoy, been the very model of a gentleman wizard tonight. I have, however, one final request.”

“There’s nothing else,” Draco replied. “We have nothing else to give. Please, be on your way.”

“My last request is but a simple thing,” rumbled the highwayman, as he gestured his horse ever closer, his body appearing ever more brawny as he crept closer “I would like a kiss from those soft plump lips to send me on my journey.”

“Miss. Greengrass will not be interfered with, you rogue!” sputtered Draco, appalled. “She is of a good family-”

“No, no… You misconstrue my words.” The thief held up a hand, the dimples on his cheeks deepening as he chuckled in amusement. “Miss. Greengrass is as fine a beauty as any in England but the lips I desire are your _own_, Draco.”

Draco knew he ought to resist, to fight, he thought, but he simply wasn’t afforded the chance to. Perhaps there had been a quietly spoken Stunning charm, for within seconds the highwayman’s lips were pressed deftly against his very own.

Draco gasped, his mouth opening slightly in shock. The villain caressed Draco’s lips with his tongue, ghosting a finger over his quivering jaw as he did so.

He couldn’t help himself; despite his every instinct to the contrary Draco felt the first stirrings of desire. The highwayman tasted of sweet plum wine, and his lips were hot against Draco’s own. The criminal’s skin wasn’t the rough, hard-worn stubble that Draco was used to, either: instead, the man’s face was as satin soft as his own clean shaven face.

“_Oh_,” murmured Draco as the Highwayman pulled out their kiss.

Draco felt his cheeks flush, and his pulse quicken. For half a second the man paused, his lips barely touching Draco, the pair of them breathing the same air. Draco felt giddy, horrified by the way his body had betrayed him to the highwayman. He felt the spiralling of some strange, unfamiliar emotion in the pit of his belly, and told himself it must surely be revulsion.

After all, the man was a common criminal.

“_Salazar_, such a gift I have been given,” whispered the stranger, his green eyes meeting Draco’s own. “I cannot ever remember a kiss so pleasing. I will be seeing you Lord Malfoy. Mark my words.”

And with those words, the highwayman kicked his horse and disappeared into the night. Draco watched him fade into the distance, his heart racing in his chest. The memory of their kiss was scandalously vivid, and he touched his mouth, imagining he could still feel those lips brushing his own. Astoria was entirely silent beside him, still not daring to say a single word.

The thought of scandal brought Draco back to his senses, and he stumbled out of the coach to find both their wands. Draco scoffed at himself as he moved though the dewy grass. What a perfect fool he had been! Responding to the highwayman! It must be the stresses of the evening softening his mind: Pansy’s Ball, that dandified fop Black-Evans’s veiled threats, and finally the robbery.

Draco located the wands after several minutes, and rescued their Driver. As the two men transported a weeping Astoria back to her parents, Draco felt treacherous ideas bubble in his heart, and remembered the taste of the highwayman’s fine lips.

All he could think of was the highwayman’s final words: _the two of them would meet again_.

Draco wanted those words to be true.

He wanted to share just one more moment of intimacy with the highwayman before he was married and such ethereal dreams must be locked away forever.

~@~

Sheer restlessness and frustration forced Draco from his bedchamber early the following day.

His fevered dreams had been full of the highwayman, full of slender fingers stroking his jaw, and yielding lips beneath his own. Draco had awoken more than once, convinced that he could still scent the ruffian’s spicy bergamot scent on his skin, with his prick hard and aching. His own hand seemed to given him no great satisfaction either, for Draco wanted those lithe fingers around his cock to be those of the highwayman rather than his own.

Indeed, those Malachite green eyes seemed to have been seared into Draco’s memory alongside the man’s amused smirk. Draco knew himself to be terribly aroused by the rogue. He wanted to tell himself that such a thing was an impossibility, but that would just have been lying to himself.

But Draco felt angry too. He’d been robbed and humiliated by the highwayman. That emerald bracelet had been in his family for generations, proof of the Malfoy’s continued loyalty to the House of Slytherin. His Mother’s ring had been taken from his own finger. He’d had his wand stripped from him and been kissed in full view of his betrothed. Draco was in little doubt that the fallout from the robbery would be hurried and painful. Lucius certainly wouldn't mince his words.

Draco marched out to the stables in a great fury, _Accio’ing_ his riding gear. He was determined to take out Osiris, his favourite black mare and ride out to his workshop. He’d work on that damned mirror for Black-Evans, and prove to himself once again that he was the finest magical mirror maker in the whole of Britain.

At least that was one thing that Draco could control in his whole miserable existence.

He rode through the chill of the morning, the wind whipping thought his white-blond hair. The steady beat of Osiris’s hooves against the ground matched the fierce thrum of the blood through Draco’s heart, and he revelled in the speed and power of the animal. He drove Osiris on, faster and faster, and all around him the Malfoy Estate flashed by in blurry images of trees and buildings.

Draco wanted to drive out those bright green eyes from his consciousness, but the quicker he drove on his beast, the more they seemed to haunt him.

Draco didn’t slow until he reached the small building on the edge of the father’s lands, the broken-down workshop that he had requisitioned for his own use. It was a small, shabby place but Draco felt like it was the one place in his feted existence that he could truly be himself. The only place where he felt truly at peace with himself.

Mirrors had captivated Draco since his earliest schooldays. There had been whispered rumours that a magical mirror existed, concealed within the dungeons and hidden spaces of Hogwarts that had settled within Draco’s boyhood imagination. _The Mirror of Erised_, the other boys had called it, claiming that only a single glance within would show the viewer their hearts very own desire.

Draco, desperately lonely after the death of his beloved Mother, had roamed the corridors looking for this mythical mirror. He’d dreamt of seeing Narcissa one final time, of telling her the goodbye that he’d been forever denied in life. Lucius hadn’t owled to say that she had passed. His father had chosen instead to only tell Draco of her death when he retuned home for Christmas.

And mirrors had been his trade ever since.

Lucius tolerated them only as a gentleman’s folly, a game that he imagined Draco was playing until he ascended to become the Duke himself, but this was far from the truth. Draco’s _dilettante_ hobby; his despairing search for a last glimpse his mother had, over time, become a true passion. Draco could make two-way mirrors for a wizard to gift to a lover, or a mirror that showed the true nature of a man’s character. He had made mirrors that poured scorn on the viewer, and even mirrors that told the viewer they were the fairest in the land.

Lord Draco Malfoy, it was said, could create any kind of mirror you craved.

Except, it would seem, a mirror that showed you whom you might gain the most sexual satisfaction from. Mirror magic was often temperamental and erratic but Draco could usually cajole his frames into meeting his wishes. Despite working on Black-Evan’s commission for over two hours Draco was having little success in getting any kind of result.

This was both most vexing, Draco thought, as well as most unusual. He’d worked the wood to a perfect finish, and pressed on the usual charms and wards. The mirror glass itself was a work of art: goblin-made in the Prussian Empire, and usually very receptive to magic. Draco had enchanted it with his usual magic but to no avail. Today, the mirror simply refused to bend to his will.

Each time he made the incantation, there was a fizzling glow of pink magic, and then… nothing. It was most displeasing, indeed. There was something that he was missing, but _Circe_, Draco simply couldn’t put his wand on it right now. At least, Draco thought wryly, as he packed away his tools, trying to create this Gratification Frame had driven those aggravatingly erotic thoughts of the highwayman from his head. It was just a childish pash, a passing fascination brought on by the heightened emotions of the robbery and the alcohol, Draco decided, spelling his the door tightly locked with a _Colloportus_. Just a ridiculous fantasy.

The Malfoy Estate was overgrown and rough around his workshop, the foliage thick and dark. As Draco walked over to where he had tethered Osiris, he shivered. Despite the blue skies above, it never became truly warm this deep inside the forest. His mind whirled with thoughts of mirrors, of the truth and lies they reflected, and strong muscles rippling under a thin cotton shirt.

“Lord Draco Malfoy,” came a voice behind him, tearing him from his musings. The highwayman stood before Draco, his presence filling the path before him.

For a moment Draco believed that his delirious dreams had been brought into existence by some slipped potion or hex, but this man was too tall, and far too imposing to be a secret vision. The rich scent of bergamot worked Draco’s nerves, and he stepped backwards, nearly losing his footing in astonishment.

“You leave yourself at risk, a Lord of your standing wandering the woods alone. Any assailant might upon you...”

“I haven’t anything,” Draco uttered, his voice less assured than he would have liked. He felt like he’d been stuck in place by magic, as if he’d been _Expoximised_ into stillness. A war of emotions raged through his body. Part of Draco wanted to hex the brigand, but a greater part of him wanted to take the bandit into his arms, and kiss him hard. But, to his enteral shame, Draco did neither of these things. “I don’t know what else I can give you, highwayman. You took everything of value last night.”

“I think there are _many_ more things of value that you can offer me Lord Malfoy. Items that have far greater value than even goblin gold, or cursed opals. And if you were to offer me those delectable items, I would die a happy man. But I am not the unconscionable malefactor you believe me to be, Lord Draco. I would never take them by force...” The highwayman held his hands open wide in a manifestation of surrender, his face open and smiling.

He sat then, arranging himself on a fallen tree, leaving Draco in the bizarre position of towering over his robber.

“I’ve got my wand,” Draco threatened, his voice wobbly. “Tell me why I shouldn’t _Stupefy_ you where you sit. Tell me why I shouldn’t summon the Aurors! I’d be well within my rights… I’d be a hero, a thief-taker!”

The highwayman yawned, and stretched his muscled thighs wide over his seat. Aggravatingly, he didn’t seem the least perturbed by Draco’s threats. “You’d have sent for the Aurors last night if you were going to,” he replied, shrugging his shoulders. “But you _didn’t_. What did you say to Lord Greengrass on your return? That reporting the crime would bring tittle-tattle and scandal?”

“What I said to Lord Greengrass is my own business!” Draco replied, his voice sounding a little more confident now. “Might I remind you, thief, that you stole family jewels, and frightened Astoria out of her wits? I do not truly believe that _I’m_ the guilty party here.”

“Perhaps not,” acquiesced the highwayman, nodding his head to the side in agreement. “But Miss. Greengrass was in no need of these shackles that you’d placed upon her wrists, Draco. All those Slytherin emeralds symbolise are the heirs that you’ll beget from her body, and the fine education that they’ll enjoy that she- as well as any daughters you both might have- would be _denied!_ Merlin, I do believe she is better off without them!… Especially as you, good sir, would only lay with her on sufferance!”

“Criminal, you forget yourself!” Draco shouted, the truth of the highwayman’s words ripping though his chest like a some fiendish curse, making him bleed and crumble. “I cannot help the world we find ourselves within! My sinful existence is _part_ of me, rogue, and I cannot change my God-given nature, though _Merlin_, my father has tried many times. I would give Astoria a good life, she would want for nothing-”

“Yet you yet yourself be kissed before her very eyes,” replied the criminal. His face softened, and Draco saw once again those beautiful dimples. There were even a smattering of freckles over the man’s golden skin that Draco hadn’t noticed the previous night. “Without even a murmur of complaint. And I do apologise for I know I gave you little choice, but you _are_ a handsome man Lord Malfoy. So handsome, that I quite forgot my manners.”

Draco shook his head, unsure of how to reply.

This was uncharted territory him; all of his many encounters with other men were hurried and sordid; conducted in haste and soon concluded. To be complimented on his handsomeness as if he were in one of the finest sitting rooms in the land? Draco had never been courted by another man, and the experience felt heady and intoxicating. He felt his stomach coil with the same unfamiliar flutter as the previous night, and stared into those sea-glass green eyes, looking for deceit or falsity. He saw none.

“I’m sorry,” the highwayman smiled, moving down the fallen tree so that there was space for the pair of them. “I’ve discomfited you once more… That wasn’t my intention, Draco. I’m mesmerised by you, I’ll admit that much. Mesmerised enough to return to you, even though I knew it to be dangerous.”

“Sir, you have me at a disadvantage,” Draco croaked, his mouth dry and his heart a drumbeat in his throat. “You know my name. The location of my workshop. Somehow you even know of my… Of my predilection for men, although I do not recognise _you_ as one of my lovers. If you could just tell me your name?”

“I’m afraid I cannot,” whispered the highwayman. “Not yet, anyway. Perhaps one day I will share all of my secrets with you, Lord Malfoy, but not today… Perhaps I might be so bold as to ask if you might enjoy sitting beside me?”

“You presume much about me,” Draco said, trying hard to sound disdainful, but succeeding only in sounding vulnerable. He knew, _knew_ that he should be taking this opportunity to hex and curse, to mount Osiris and flee for help. Instead, Draco found himself sat down upon the rough wood, an action he’d taken almost unconsciously. “I’m a Lord,” he grumbled, almost to save his own dignity, “not a common knave for you to have your way with-”

“I would never presume about you...” the highwayman replied, enfolding Draco in those strong, muscular arms. His final words were lost as their lips met in a second heated kiss, and Draco felt his treacherous mouth open to taste that heady sweet taste, felt his lungs fill with the addictive scent of bergamot. _Merlin!_ Draco felt his whole body swoon into the sensation.

Draco was held fast by the man’s powerful grasp and he felt himself melt into the kiss.

Draco lent against the man’s hard chest in the full knowledge that the highwayman was his ruin, the temptation that would smash everything Draco believed to smithereens. This highwayman would make Draco forget his life and everything he’d ever vowed or believed with every luxurious slide of his tongue over Draco’s own. Entirely intoxicated by their kiss, Draco felt his skin ripple with goosebumps and his belly roll with excitement.

His prick filled and hardened, his trousers growing tighter with every movement of the highwayman’s lips. When he pulled his lips away, Draco found himself making a muted, greedy sort of sound that he wouldn’t have liked to believe he was capable of.

“_Exquisite_,” murmured the man. “Your lips were made for kissing, and had I my way, I would kiss you forever-more. You are quite the most bewitching creature.”

Draco felt shame slam into his body, dark and heavy. He pulled back, the way he should have done from the first moment but it was futile. He could put space between the pair of them but there was no pretending the kiss hadn’t happened. It had, and the hard swell within the highwayman’s breeches was every indication that he’d enjoyed it just as much.

“This cannot _be_, robber!” Draco replied, leaning in to find the highwayman’s lips once more. He felt the world shift inside of him, felt everything he’d believe crumble. Never before had these encounters been about kissing or flirtation. For all of Draco’s sexual experience, he knew himself to be but a green, innocent boy when it came to love. The highwayman had stolen more than just jewels.

_He had stolen Draco’s heart_.

And Draco knew that he’d not be satisfied with hurried trysts, or hasty fucks with anonymous men ever again. He knew, for the first time in his life that he deserved more. The highwayman was so warm, and tasted delicious. His thick, unruly hair brushed Draco’s cheek and the thief’s hard cock was stark, a hot friction against Draco’s thigh.

Their kiss deepened and Draco sighed, letting the other man’s hands comfortably rest on his waist.

And then suddenly, their kiss was over. The highwayman was standing.

“It _can_ be, Lord Malfoy, but only if you truly wish it to be.” The highwayman smiled, and Draco felt that same flutter of anticipation run through his body. “Let me bid you good morning, my love. I shall look forward to out next meeting, for I do promise we shall meet again.”

Draco watched in silence as the highwayman disapparated into a shimmer of green magic.

He held out a hand, his fingertips needy for a final touch, but they met with empty air. Even before the final glitters of magic had evaporated, Draco felt terribly alone. He mounted Osiris, and rode tardily back to the Manor. Draco’s body coursed with impotent desire, his prick ready and willing in his silk breeches and his whole mind aflame.

And, for the first time in nineteen years of compliance and duty, Lord Draco Malfoy began to dream of an entirely different future.

~@~

Upon his return to the Manor, Draco was told that his father required his immediate presence. He wasn’t to tarry, the Valet said: Draco was to join his father as soon as he was presentable.

To his abject horror, he discovered that his father wasn’t alone.

Draco’s Valet had whispered to him upon taking his riding-coat that the Lord Greengrass had arrived more than half an hour before. He had been taken up to the Duke’s personal study and the two men had been in a close _tet-a-tet_ ever since.

Draco felt every piece of joy that had come about because of his meeting with the highwayman dissolve and disappear. He wasn’t in any doubt that the sole purpose of the two elder statesmen’s meeting was a heated discussion about his future.

Draco felt his heart skip a beat, and the first stirrings of panic. That future meant only one thing: a Malfoy-Greengrass wedding to be held with great pomp and circumstance during the coming summer months.

The very same wedding that Draco had been so blasé about with Lady Pansy only the day before.

But what had yesterday felt like simple duty felt today like a short walk to the gallows.

Draco stared at himself in the hall mirror. It wasn’t one of his own pieces; Duke Lucius deemed it utterly _declasse_ to own any furniture that wasn’t a family heirloom. His refection stared back, disordered and wild. He looked nothing like a young aristocrat of fine pedigree: this Draco Malfoy looked excited, flushed and truly alive.

Draco charmed his hair tidy, and did his best to flatten the creases out of his clothes. It wouldn’t suffice, he supposed, but it would have to do. Draco had a large brandy brought to him to calm his nerves, and tried his best to arrange his face into acceptability.

Draco sipped his brandy snifter slowly. Dragon Barrel Brandy was thick, rich and he hoped would give him the courage he sorely needed.

~@~

“So you managed to get yourself into trouble once more Draco,” Duke Lucius stated, leaning back in his chair. There was a smile on his face, and the words he spoke were polite enough, but Draco wasn’t fooled.

“You managed to lose your mother’s ring and bracelet in a robbery. _Tsk tsk_, Draco. Very careless.”

His father’s grey eyes, so like his own, were dark with anger, and Draco could see the white knuckles that gripped the old man’s glass. Lucius Malfoy was a predator; of women, money and most especially, power. Today, he’d set his sights on Draco and wouldn’t be satisfied till his prey was battered and bruised. This criticism, Draco knew, was only his opening gambit.

“It wasn’t carelessness,” Draco replied, not wanting to show his hand any more than he had to. “The highwayman was armed. _Stupefy’d_ the Driver before I even knew we’d been attacked-”

He had no idea what Astoria had relayed to her father, but this much Lord Greengrass already knew, for Draco had told him this when he’d returned his betrothed the previous evening. The elder Greengrass didn’t speak, and merely lounged against the ornate fireplace. Draco thought that Hyperion Greengrass seemed ill at ease: his lips were pursed in lightly veiled disgust.

“Yes, yes,” interrupted the Duke, clearly not welcoming Draco’s words. He slammed down his brandy and looked directly at Draco.

“Lord. Greengrass has outlined the events of the robbery, and it seems that you were taken for quite the fool. Despite a fine education you allowed yourself to lose your wand to a simple _Expelliarmus_. No, No… I don’t want to hear excuses-” Lucius raised a hand in the air, forestalling any reply that Draco might give, “I’ve know for a _long time_ what quality of heir I’ve been unlucky enough to have sired. You’re damnably lucky, Draco… Many a father in my position would have thrown you to the _gutter_ long before I have-”

As he’d spoken, Lucius’s volume and venom had risen alongside each other till he was almost snarling each off his words. Draco knew that it was only the presence of Lord Greengrass that had stopped his father's fists, or worse still, his magic from attacking him. Draco had been on the receiving end of both, many more times than he could count.

Luckily, Lucius seemed to realise they were in company and pulled himself back into the semblance of a rational human being, before continuing his diatribe.

“_Damnably lucky_…” He took a deep breath, a large swallow of his brandy and continued with a shake of his head. “Draco, I don’t want to hear one more word about your pitiable reaction. You were correct, at least, telling Greengrass here that calling in the Aurors would have caused gossip. Our family is the finest in the land, the epitome of the pure-blood wizarding aristocracy, and we will not be the subject of gossip-mongers and gab-rags.”

Lucius leaned back, and took another gulp of his drink.

“Now, Draco, I have assured Lord. Greengrass that any lapses in your character were a momentary failure… A _weakness_ that won’t show its face again. I’ve assured him also that you remain as dedicated to Miss. Greengrass as ever. The wedding will take place this summer. A summer wedding that will unite our families and return the Malfoy name to its unassailable position of power.”

Lucius stood, and looked over to Lord Greengrass.

Draco watched, repelled by his overbearing, bullying father. “Now, Lord Greengrass, I beg a moment alone with Draco here. _Father to son, if you will_. I simply need to explain the expectations that will arise from his coming nuptials...”

Lucius smiled obsequiously, and Draco felt sick to his stomach.

“Of course, my dear Duke,” Greengrass replied in a toadying voice, bowing low. “I am gratified that this unfortunate affair has been put to rest. Lord Draco, I shall expect you at Greengrass Manor at ten tomorrow for an official proposal. We shall, of course, inform the _Prophet_ and the _Quibbler_. Tell the _Haut Ton_ precisely when the pair of you are to marry.”

Greengrass left then, in a sycophantic flurry of bows, and handshakes.

As soon as Draco and Lucius were alone, his father laid his wand across the table. His expression was unfathomable as he lent forward, tucking his long, white hair behind his ears.

“Draco,” said Lucius slowly, “I’m going to give you some advice. And you, dear boy, are to listen. Greengrass told me today that you had allowed yourself to be touched by this highwayman. Allowed yourself to be sullied by both a fellow man, and a filthy criminal. Now, I have assured him that such a disgusting breech of human nature was but a shocked reaction. A foolish moment, perchance?”

Draco felt his whole body tense.

He felt his head ache at the idea that his fleeting moments with the highwayman had been disgusting. Those moments had been some of the purest and most real of his whole life. It was _this_ grotesque charade that was a breech of human nature, not those brief kisses that the two of them had shared.

He opened his mouth and began to reply, but before he could speak a pain tore though his whole left side. Draco screamed in absolute agony. _A Stinging Hex_. Tears rolled down Draco’s face, and he fell to his knees. He should have known better than attempt to reply.

Duke Lucius Malfoy was a wizard that wouldn’t be questioned.

“A foolish moment… I’m glad we agree, Draco. These… These _tendencies_ of yours have been quite the bane of my existence since you were a boy. Remember the day I caught you kissing Sir. Raphael Parkinson? You were but a boy… Yet your perverted ways had already risen to the surface.”

“You used the _Cruciatus_ on me...” Draco managed, wiping blood from a swollen and split lip. “I was only eleven-”

“Only eleven and already corrupt.” Lucius rolled his wand between two fingers, the subtle threat hanging in the air between them. “You won’t ruin this alliance for me, Draco… Terrible tragedies happen to wizards who betray their fathers. They find themselves falling from their horse, or robbed and murdered in isolated spots. They might even find themselves dancing on the gibbet alongside their highwayman love, betrayed to the Aurors for the degenerate that Molly they _are_… Do I make myself fully clear?”

“Fully,” Draco whispered, swaying where he stood.

Draco knew that he’d pass out were he to stay before his father many more minutes. The agony of the hex was nothing in comparison to the torture of his father’s words, and the very real knowledge that Lucius spoke the utter truth. There was nothing in the world that his father loved more than power. Lucius would kill the highwayman as soon as look at him.

“Finally, the boy sees sense!” Lucius scoffed, and looked dismissively down to where Draco cowered. “Tomorrow, you use your honeyed words on the Greengrass chit. Until this matter is decided, and she wears your ring, I’ve no wish to see you. Go, play with your mirrors. Those trinkets are all you’re good for. _All you’re worth_.”

~@~

Draco spent the rest of the day confined to his rooms. He could hardly move out of his bedchamber, and lay prone and still. His limbs and face burned with the Stinging Hex, but the pain hardly registered on his consciousness.

What pained Draco most, was his heart breaking into a hundred pieces.

He told his Valet to tell any visitors that he’d been laid low by fever; that he was unable to leave his bed, but truthfully, Draco felt broken.

For just a few fleeting moments that morning the highwayman had led him to believe that a different existence was possible. Fugitive dreams had led Draco to the thought that he could be loved by a partner of his choosing; live a life where he didn’t spend his days feeling ashamed.

Duke Lucius had ground those ideas under his foot and mocked Draco’s happiness.

Draco didn’t know how long he had lain there, but somehow he must have drifted off to sleep, for he was suddenly awoken by a small owl scratching at the window in the dull grey evening light. Draco wondered for a brief second who his messenger might me: the creature wasn’t a Malfoy beast, nor did he belong to any of Draco’s acquaintances. A neat piece of parchment was attached to the animal, which he unrolled carefully after he’d spelled his window open to let the bird enter.

_My Dearest Lord_,

_You might think me a fool, but I've missed you these long hours. Your lips upon mine were the sweetest of all treats, and I cannot but beg for more_.

_If you feel the same, then you’ll find me within the Stables. Even if we are only in each others company for a minute then that will satisfy the depths of my craving_.

_Draco, I find I cannot do without you_.

_The Highwayman_.

~@~

Draco knew there were many reasons why he shouldn’t go to the highwayman.

Were they to be caught, his father’s rage would no know no bounds. The Aurors would be called, and his beloved would be taken in magical shackles to Azkhban to await trial. Draco felt his heart beat in his throat, and he wavered, coming very close to _Accio’ing_ a parchment and quill, and dashing off a note telling the highwayman to flee from this place immediately…

But Draco couldn’t do it. His open heart lay far beyond the practicalities of his mind, and if the highwayman was there, Draco knew he had to find him.

He pulled on a simple pair of breeches and a grey felted shirt, before disapparating without a single further thought.

~@~

“You’re a _fool_ to come here,” Draco whispered, finding himself embraced immediately within the criminals strong arms, his anxieties and fright only melting with the confidence of his beloveds clever touches.

Their kisses were long and tender, and thought they’d only been apart a spare few hours, Draco felt grateful they were reunited. He pulled away after a minute though, uneasy with the risks his man had taken. “I mean what I say, highwayman. My father is furious and would see you taken to the gallows. I… I do not want you dead. You said this morning that there could be an understanding between us. _If I wanted-_”

“And?” prompted the highwayman, his eyes amused and warm “_do_ you want?”

“I do, highwayman… I do. But it can only be tonight. That is all the time we’ll ever have, my love. My father told me today that my marriage to Miss. Greengrass must occur this summer, and I dare not resist him… Father is a powerful man, and he wouldn’t pause before having us both destroyed if I defy him. He used a Stinging Hex on me this afternoon…Told me I could expect worse were I to go against him.”

Draco looked at the highwayman in anguish. “This moment in time is all we’ll ever have, for you must flee far from here. Be gone before the morning.”

“I do not fear bullies such as your Lord Lucius,” exclaimed the highwayman gruffly and Draco drew in a sharp breath. He knew himself to be falling in love with the man before him, and couldn’t abide the idea of being him being broken, hurt or destroyed.

“I’ve made my decision,” Draco replied. “After tonight, don’t come to me again. I will not see you. Now please… Don’t tarry with my feelings. Let me see you.” Draco asked, letting his nervous fingers walk along the side of the criminals mask. He went to lift it up, but the man’s deft fingers lifted his hands away easily. He shook his head.

“Not yet, my Lord. You are not yet ready to know who I am.” He highwayman leant forward and kissed Draco urgently, his lips and tongue a hot caress of want and need.

“This is all the time we’ll _ever_ have,” Draco repeated, his voice rough with torment, “and yet you’ll not tell me who you are? At least make love to me, then. Give me one memory to sustain me-”

The highwayman stood, leaving Draco shivering with shock and cold. “If that is your wish, Lord Draco, then it is mine too. But I only wish this could be our beginning, rather than our end.” Draco watched in rapt silence as the highwayman began to loosen and undo his buttons and fastenings. He stripped slowly, seeming not to want to rush, The highwayman took off every item of clothes bar his mask.

_Merlin, Morgana and all the deities_. The man was beautiful. All of Draco’s previous encounters had been hasty, rushed dealings, often with a minimum of clothes removed to ensure a hurried orgasm. Draco had never before experienced the luxury of revelling in such an expanse of male flesh.

The highwayman was well built; muscular, with powerful arms and legs that spoke of many hours in the saddle. His waist was narrow. The man’s wide chest was sparely covered in black hair and, most erotic of all, a thick track of hair led from his bellybutton to his girthy prick. The thief was in an obvious state of excitement: his erection stood proudly, curving elegantly against his stomach. Every part of Draco longed to touch, stroke and enjoy the man before him but fear still haunted the back of his mind. Even with the faint _Lumos_ of their wands there was still a risk of their discovery.

“Circe,” Draco murmured. “I’ve never seen a sight such as you before. I’m enraptured highwayman. You’ve not only stolen my heart… but my senses too.”

Draco shot to life then, struggling with his own laces, knots and fastenings. He was soon naked too, and he bashfully led the robber to a secluded corner of the stables. He lay some blankets down on the straw and lay down, opening his body wide for the highwayman’s delectation.

The highwayman looked down at Draco with a wild desire, before carefully moving him onto his side.

“We deserve better than this rough coupling in a stable,” muttered the thief as he cast a lubing spell on Draco, who felt his body writhe under the sheer pleasure of the highwayman’s magic. The lube was warm, and the man pressed careful fingers against his furled arsehole. “You deserve to be wooed on a bed of silk, in the finest chamber in the land-”

“This is all that _Mols_ like ourselves can expect,” Draco replied, gasping at the first hot touch of the highwayman’s fingers. “The world will never allow us such indulgences … Oh, but that feels so good. Don’t stop!”

“Then is the world that is wrong,” the highwayman said, carefully spreading the wetness around, “for in my heart I cannot believe there is anything sinful about our actions tonight. Indeed, surely this is what out bodies were made for?”

Draco agreed, but was too deeply enmeshed within his pleasure to make any reply.

The robber had slid in a finger inside him and was opening him wide like a flower in bloom. No man had ever taken such time or care before; every careful stretch was an act of love unlike anything Draco had experienced in his life. The highwayman was wrong; Draco thought. He didn’t need a fine chamber or silk sheets. What Draco truly needed was this affection and care being lavished upon him, and the true promise that it’d be forever.

He took his own cock in hand and began to stroke it slowly, his fist moving in time with the highwayman’s fingers within inside him. With each thrust, the thief seemed to slowly move deeper, and Draco arched his back in wordless encouragement. The highwayman pulled nearly all the way out, and then rewarded Draco by pushing back in with two fingers.

“Is this still to your delight?” the man asked, and Draco nodded, taking the opportunity to crawl onto his hands and knees.

“I’m ready,” he stated. “Ready to take your cock… Though you won’t show me your face, at least allow me to enjoy a different part of your handsome body, robber. Let me know you in a way that I shall never know my _bride-_”

The highwayman’s eyes grew dark and clouded at Draco’s words, but he didn’t stop. He gave Draco a few more moments to adjust, and then withdraw his fingers. He recast the lubing spell, and Draco heard the familiar slicking sound as the highwayman prepared his own hard prick.

“You want this?” asked the thief. “You’re ready for me?”

“I am,” Draco assented, rolling his hips so that the head of the highwayman’s cock brushed against his well-prepared hole. “Make love to me, highwayman, and damn the rest of the world. For tonight only we exist within it.”

The thief didn’t reply, except to push inside of him, hands clasping hard to Draco’s waist. Draco squeezed his eyes shut, a swell of pure emotion rolling through his whole body. This was intimacy like he’d never known. This was as different from those anonymous fucks as night was from the bruising heat of midday. He moaned aloud at the delicious stretch, and the feeling of fullness that he thought might overwhelm him.

“Merlin. _Fuck_. You’re so good for me,” Draco whined, letting himself be held in place as the highwayman bottomed out. He could feel the pressure of the man’s hips pushing against his arse-cheeks, and soft kisses being pressed against his shoulders.

Draco could feel his beloved draw his prick back slowly before thrusting back in, this time much more sharply. The highwayman steadily built up his rhythm until he was pounding into Draco, and he could hear the thief making small, needy noises with each buck of his hips. With every thrust of his cock, Draco’s lover hit the place inside him that felt like molten pleasure. The joy ricocheted through his whole body, coiling in his every cell.

And with every long slide out and thrust back in, Draco felt his orgasm grow ever closer. The sensation was consuming; too much yet Draco needed more of it. He wanted everything that the highwayman was willing to give him… His thief was a fine lover, and he worked Draco’s nerves, driving him relentlessly to the very cliff-edge of an explosive pleasure.

His orgasm ripped through Draco suddenly, scandalous in its sheer intensity.

In some recess of his brain, Draco was aware that his lover had come too, the robber’s prick a throbbing presence deep within him. It was a cold night out in the stables, but Draco felt nothing but warmth as the thief held him close while aftershocks coursed through his body. Afterwards, the two kissed for what felt like an age, a sweaty, sticky tangle of limbs that Draco would chosen never have willingly extracted himself from were he given half a chance.

At last the highwayman stirred. “And yet you’d still ask me to stay away?” he asked quietly, “even though we were made for the worship of each others bodies? Even though you can _feel_ the rightness of our union?”

Draco pushed himself up on an elbow, and let his eyes wander slowly over his beloved. If this was to be their final meeting, then he wanted to commit him entirely to memory. “I would, highwayman. Many don’t feel this much passion in a lifetime, so perhaps we are the lucky ones. All I know it that I cannot, and will not risk you. Flee tonight, I beg you. Go abroad if you’re able to… Everyday you stay, you endanger your life.”

“You call _me_ a thief,” replied the highwayman, taking Draco’s hand and kissing the back as if he were a virtuous maid, “yet you have stolen my heart, Lord Draco. When I go, I'll be leaving a part of myself behind.”

“And go you must,” Draco urged, laying his head down on the man’s chest, “for I cannot guarantee your body and soul are safe if you remain here. But your heart, my love… That will remain safe with me forever. I swear that much on my life.”

Draco must have slept then, the heart of the man beneath him lulling him into a deep and untroubled sleep.

When he awoke, Draco was wrapped in rough stable blankets, and first grey stripes of dawn slanted across the room. He blinked his eyes, willing himself to dress and go back to his chamber. Dust motes danced in the light, and he knew himself to be alone in the world once more.

~@~

Even as Draco sat in Astoria’s sitting room, sipping his lukewarm Oolong tea and making polite small-talk with her Mama, his mind was filled with images of the highwayman.

The man’s muscular chest, his taut thighs and searing lips seemed to have been painted in a million still images that he couldn’t tear his eyes from, but it was their intimacy, their lovemaking that Draco’s thoughts circled back to, time and again. He’d shared his body with so many others, but the previous night had been a revelation. Draco knew that he loved the man, knew it as surely as he lived and breathed, but he didn’t know the highwayman’s name, or even what he might look like under the mask.

And, of course, now Draco knew he never would.

If the robber had any sense he’d have fled the county, or even England by now. He could be on a ship, travelling to France, or hidden in a remote Scottish village. Draco swallowed the last of his tea, and tried to focus on the wittering voice of Lady. Greengrass.

“Of course, Lord Malfoy, Astoria and I are so pleased to have you call upon us today! And how is your _father_, the dear Duke? Well I hope? I know this dreadful muggle influenza is making the rounds, but then one cannot inure oneself to such illnesses forever? Such thing will happen when we are forced to have such _underlings_ as tenants… Lord Greengrass in with them now, collecting rent… And how is your _tea?_ The finest Oolong, I can assure you of that!...”

Draco let her words run over him. He’d surrounded himself with such company his whole life; Lords and Ladies who cared nothing for the world and concerned themselves only with trivialities and one-upmanship. Beside him, Astoria was silent, as she always was in the presence of her mother. _Well bred witches should be seen and not heard_. All his life Draco had accepted such ideas without thought or criticism, but as he looked at his bride-to-be he realised that she, too, was a bright, vivacious person. Astoria deserved a full life with a person who loved her fully.

What had the highwayman said? That he would lay with Astoria only on _sufferance?_ Draco felt his stomach twist, suddenly feeling sick to the stomach. The tea in his mouth suddenly tasted foul, as bitter as poison.

If he went through with this marriage then he was surely as evil as his father, trapping a girl of only seventeen into an unpleasant and unwanted union. Inside his pocket, the ruby engagement ring Draco had brought felt heavy and uncomfortable.

Beside him, Lady. Greengrass continued her diatribe, unaware that no one was truly listening.

“… And Lord. Greengrass has assured me that they’ll be not a Galleon spared on your wedding. We’ll have a Harpist and a five-course meal… A four-tiered wedding cake, of course… Those new-money _upstarts_, Lord and Lady Parkinson only managed three tiers, and we shall of course do one better... You’ll recall, Lord Malfoy, our eldest daughter’s wedding to Mr. Gregory Goyle, when we-”

Draco stood, unable to listen to her prattling for another moment.

“Lady. Greengrass,” said Draco, cutting her off mid-sentence, “I apologise for my rudeness, but I don’t feel that it’s gracious to discuss the arrangements for our wedding… I know I made my commitment clear when I gave Astoria my mother’s Slytherin emerald bracelet, but as your good husband reminded me yesterday, I have _not_ yet made an official proposal. I beg a moment of Miss. Greengrass’s time so that I might talk to her in private before your husband returns from visiting his tenants.”

Lady. Greengrass eyes Draco suspiciously. He suspected that she wasn’t a woman who was used to being interrupted on any subject whatsoever, especially in her own Morning Room. The portentous witch huffed out a little sigh, and stood to make her leave.

“One _must_ conduct oneself respectfully, it would seem. I’ll take my leave of you both, Lord Draco.”

~@~

Draco found himself tongue-tied as soon as the door shut beside him.

He sat down beside Astoria and tried to take her hand, but she jerked it away from him, deliberately turning her head so that Draco was unable to look her in the eye. The only sound in the room was the rustle of Astoria’s silk skirts and the clink as Draco carefully placed his tea-cup back in its saucer.

“Astoria,” Draco began, hating how halting and unsure his voice sounded, “I’ve been brought to task over the highwayman, and I'm sorry I didn't do more to protect you… Your father has called upon my own Duke Lucius. All parties seem to think that a swift Summer wedding might be the best resolution to any tittle-tattle caused by the robbery…”

“_A swift Summer wedding_,” repeated Astoria, looking at Draco for the first time. She had a pretty voice, but spoke quietly. Her eyes were red-rimmed, and she seemed, to Draco, to view him with a mixture of fear and pity. “Of course, that would be the best option for all concerned. As a good pure-blood witch, what choice do I have?”

Draco was silent. Astoria had as little choice as he himself did. They were partners in this ridiculous, farcical dance of respectability.

“I have _no_ choice,” Astoria continued, her voice sad. “I have been _bartered_, traded away by my own father.” She swallowed, and shook her head. “I told him, Lord Draco, of the kiss that you shared with the highwayman. He said that high-born wizards will have their indiscretions, and that I must turn a blind-eye. But how can I?”

Draco looked at the floor, aghast at the hypocrisy of the wizarding world. He remembered his father’s parade of mistresses through the Manor, remembered Pansy’s warnings of how venomous his marriage might eventually become were he to ignore the truth of who he was.

“Trust me, Astoria, “Draco said, his tone bittersweet. “The highwayman has gone from my life. I can promise you that he won’t return.”

“Yet, you’ll mourn him,” Astoria replied. “_You_ might think me a green girl, but I’ve known what it is to share a true lover’s kiss… And that is what I saw yesterday, my Lord. I am forever forbidden to marry my true love, for he is but a wizard-at-trade, a mere _Esquire_. I would flee to be beside him tonight if I could, for he is my heart’s own desire.” Astoria’s eyes were shining, and her cheeks were bright. She looked radiant, and far happier than she’d ever once been in Draco’s company. “But my dowry wouldn’t accompany me. I have nothing of my own in the world.”

“Then we come to our marriage alike,” Draco answered, taking her slight hand in his own. “Two souls far adrift from their true love… But I promise you, that I will try my damnedest to be a good husband, and you’ll have the finest life I can provide.”

Astoria didn’t reply. A single tear tracked down her pale cheek, and the pair of them sat in muted silence, awaiting the return of Lord. Greengrass.

Draco stared out of the window at the immaculate garden of Greengrass Manor, wondering exactly where the Highwayman was now. Was he aboard ship, or on horseback, beating a part along the highway, putting many miles between Draco and himself?

Wherever the highwayman was, Draco longed to be there beside him; his smile as warm as the sun upon his face.

~@~

Draco was only pulled from his daydreams by the thundering hooves of Lord. Greengrass’s horse and his voice, loud and jagged, shouting orders at his Butler.

“My dear Lord Malfoy!” exclaimed Greengrass, entering the room with a rushed, panicked stride. “I came straight back here… Just received a Patronus from the Duke… _Merlin_, such dreadful news! Your father has been robbed, Draco! His valuables have been taken!” Greengrass slumped down on his chaise-longue, and called clamorously for his Elf.

“Glass of Port, Mifty, if you would… The same highwayman who so cruelly robbed Astoria and yourself has attacked Duke Lucius! He’d been on route to the Goldstein’s home for a game of Whist when he was attacked. The mongrel has taken his jewels, the weekly rents… And incapacitated the poor man with a Stinging Hex-”

Greengrass paused, and took a long swallow of the port. He took a deep breath, and looked at Draco through narrowed, mistrustful eyes. “Lord and Lady Goldstein are looking after your dear father, but I assure you, this villainous cur _will_ be discovered. This time the Aurors have been called in, and I assure you, they’ll find the criminal… And have him hanged.”

Draco felt a swell of panic, felt his blood run cold. The Aurors would use every piece of magic, and every clever trick available to catch his highwayman.

Draco wanted to run, to flee, to find his beloved and hide him forever. There was no way to contact him though, no way he could warn his highwayman what faced him. Was this why he’d never been allowed to know his name, or see his face? So that he couldn’t be implicated in his crimes? Draco stared hard at Lord. Greengrass, and saw dislike on the pompous fool’s face.

“Now, Lord Draco… You must understand how the _Haut Ton_ will gossip about this latest development. They’ll blame the Duke’s involvement in the _coup d'état_… Say that the Duke has been associating with nefarious elements once again. I can’t, in good conscience, have the Greengrass family mixed up with such a _story_…”

Greengrass leaned back, and rolled the remains of his drink slowly around his glass.

“There’ll be no proposal, I’m afraid, till all of this nasty business is cleared up. Astoria is a pure-blood girl with a large dowry… I think we’ll hold off until this highway is dangling from the _noose_.”

~@~

The Aurors seemed to be everywhere after Draco’s father was attacked.

They interviewed Draco, mistrustful of his failure to report the earlier robbery, and patrolled the highways around the Manor. There had been no other attacks, and no highwayman matching Lucius’s attacker had ever been seen in Wiltshire, or any of the other surrounding counties. Draco could see the Aurors in the evenings, guarding the Manor gates and he watched, silently, as they ransacked the barns and stables, desperately searching for a wizard that seemed to have vanished entirely from the face of the earth.

“We just can’t understand it,” spat out Robards, the Chief- Auror. “This highwayman is quite the elusive fellow. There must be someone hiding him, keeping this rogue safe from the law; some turncoat scoundrel. You wouldn’t know anything about that now, would you Lord Malfoy? Such a blackguard wouldn’t be spared the whip, I can assure you of that...”

The days turned into weeks and still the Aurors found nothing. Duke Lucius was far too cowardly to leave the safe confines of the Goldstein’s Manor, although he blustered to all and sundry that his Stinging Hex burns were still agonising.

Draco was glad of the Goldstein’s seemingly endless hospitality, for he feared seeing Duke Lucius alone dreadfully. He didn’t doubt that he’d bear the blame for the interruption to his official proposal, for he knew that Astoria’s dowry and respectability were prizes indeed.

Each day passed in a grey blur.

Food held no interest for Draco, even though the worried Elves made his favourites. He found his clothes became loose as he lost weight. His body was rife with unexplained aches and he avoided Blaise and Lady Pansy like the Dragon Pox, for Draco felt there was nothing of interest that he wanted to share with his friends. Every night he dreamt of the highwayman, imagining his lover cursed, or dancing and jerking as he was hung in the Market Square beside Diagon Alley.

Draco knew the Aurors suspected him of collusion; believed him guilty of harbouring the highwayman. _Why_, they had asked, _did you not report the earlier crime? What secret were you trying to hide?_ He watched as the Aurors examined his father's papers, looking for a name, or a link to the _coup d'état_, but seemingly coming away with nothing every time.

Every afternoon Draco would ride Malfoy Estate, looking for his highwayman. All he wanted was a glimpse of those Sea-foam green eyes or that uncontrollably wild mop of hair, but there was simply no sign of the man. But the highwayman at last taken his advice, Draco thought one solitary evening, his heart utterly broken.

He’d finally fled forever.

~@~

To make matters worse, the very next day Draco received an owl.

It was from that braying dandy Viscount Black-Evans, and as Draco read, he felt his ire rising with every word. He wanted his plague of a mirror, and intended to collect his amusement the very next day.

_My Dear Lord Draco_,

_I do feel that an apology is in order, dear boy_.

_It seems that my commission to yourself was the herald of quite the string of bad luck for your dear family. One cannot visit the Opera, the clubs or stroll upon Diagon Alley without hearing the name of Malfoy from a dozen lips. Your family has caused quite the controversy within our world_.

_Honestly, in my most humble opinion, one robbery is terrible bad luck. A second starts to seem rather like carelessness..._.

_Still, at least you have been occasioned some time away from Society, and I do so dearly hope that you have used these last two weeks creating my mirror. I must admit, my dear Lord, that I cannot wait to see the object of your greatest sexual satisfaction within the shining glass_.

_I’ll arrive at Malfoy Manor at eight o’clock this afternoon, and let me assure you. I shall leave with my prize_.

_Yours faithfully_,

_The. Right Hon. Viscount Black-Evans_

~@~

Draco returned to his workshop, dread curling in his stomach.

The Gratification Frame still hung on the wall, sophisticated and elegant; effervescent with magic. His mirror really was a fine magical object, perfect for a gentleman such as Black-Evans to keep within his private rooms, to show to friends and lovers. In another lifetime Draco knew that such an item could have made his reputation, and that only a sparse few weeks before he would have been overjoyed with such a commission.

The Gratification Frame would have been the most coveted of items, and Draco the most sought after of craftsmen. Instead, Draco looked at the item with a deep revulsion.

Draco could tell from the glimmer of magic over the glass, and the quiver of powerfulness when he touched the frame that this was indeed a compelling item, but that didn’t seem to matter. The Gratification Frame had taken up a grudge against him, and she refused to show him even a glimpse of the highwayman, whom Draco knew must be the object of his sexual satisfaction.

Just to be sure, Draco tried one final time.

He gave his wand a sharp twist, and uttered the incantation: “Mirror, Mirror, please let me glimpse my attraction… Show me the man who’ll give me my true satisfaction.”

But, as each time previously, the mirror glowed a delicate rose-pink and then faded as quickly. Black-Evans, Draco decided, would simply have to be disappointed.

Draco cast a _Tempus_ Spell, and released with a shock that much of the afternoon had gone while trying to charm the blasted mirror into working. Black-Evans would be arriving at the Manor in less than an hour, and he'd no doubt be full of veiled threats and criticism. The man was a pompous arse, and Draco didn’t think he’d be the least bit contented with his mirror.

Draco glanced sadly at the door as he _Accio’ed_ paper and string and set to work wrapping the Gratification Frame. It seemed like only yesterday that the highwayman had waited for him outside of his workshop, and kissed him with such honeyed lips, making love to him with words and caresses.

At least he had those memories, Draco thought, his senses blurring with imaginings of the highwayman’s sweet taste and rich bergamot scent. He sighed, fully aware that such visions couldn’t sustain him for a whole lifetime.

A life without his lover wasn’t an existence that Draco was yet ready to face. Draco shook such thoughts out of his head. It was critical to act as normally as he could for this this appointment with Black-Evans, and not draw undue attention to himself. Such a man wasn’t to be tarried with, and Draco certainly didn’t need a Viscount for an enemy.

Picking up his wrapped Gratification Frame, Draco disapparated into a sparkling dust of stars.

~@~

Viscount Black-Evans was every bit as dreadful as Draco remembered him from a fortnight before.

Monty, his Elf-Butler showed the man into the Drawing Room, but Black-Evans announced himself before hand with the reek of his French perfume. He strode into the room as it were his own home and threw himself down on the settee without being asked to sit.

Draco sniffed, trying to keep his temper in check.

For an aristocrat of good breeding, this wizard really did have abominable manners. Black-Evans’s wig seemed even longer than at Pansy’s party, and his clothing much more ridiculous. He wore a confection of orange and pink velvet, with more ruffles and lace than Draco had ever seen wrapped around one individual. Black-Evans’s face was encrusted in thick white powder, and he wore a considerable number of drawn-on beauty spots.

“My Lord,” Black-Evans smirked, motioning to the Butler to be brought a drink, “these two weeks have treated you appallingly! You’re naught but skin and bones! Surely a _bright young buck_ as yourself hasn’t been destroyed by a wicked highwayman? That would be a grievous shame-”

Draco felt his stomach lurch with horrible familiarity.

“Those were the same words as the highwayman said, Viscount. I assure you, I’m not the bright young buck either you or he described… But I dearly wish not to discuss the events that have befallen my family… I’ve no desire to make small-talk or play gentlemanly games either. You were unconscionably rude to me at Lady. Pansy’s Spring Ball, and compelled me under duress to make you a mirror. I have done so-”

“Ah,” said Black-Evans, “my _prize_. A mirror that shows the viewer the person they’ll gain the most sexual satisfaction from. A mirror that cannot lie…”

Black-Evans paused, and cast his eyes around. He spied the wrapped parcel and smiled broadly. “Have you completed this task? It was a fiendish commission, I’ll admit that. A mirror from a master craftsman; a man who can create such wonderful magical items but cannot see the _truth_ about himself, or who he really is. Who is it you see, when you look in the mirror, Lord Draco?”

“Nobody. I see nobody. I’ve made you your mirror,” Draco interrupted, tired of the man's pontificating. “But you’re to be disappointed. The object of my sexual satisfaction will not be revealed… And, Merlin knows, I’ve tried. So many times. The magic won’t work for me… Just take your mirror, and begone. I cannot do any more.”

But Black-Evans only laughed.

“Humour me, please. Let us look just once, into the mirror, and see what she reveals. You look, Draco, but you don’t _see_ at all. You think me a foppish bully, superficial and conceited? I can see it in your face. You’re wrong.”

With a quick swipe of his wand, the Viscount ripped open the wrappings on the mirror, and levitated it over to where they both sat. Draco stared at his handiwork. The Gratification Frame was beautiful; glowing with magic.

“And only two weeks ago, you gazed upon yourself in the mirror and thought yourself only worthy of a dynastic marriage… Your life was laid out in a path that you dared not deviate from. You fell from bedchamber to bedchamber, man to man, because you didn’t deem that you _deserved_ any better. But you’re wrong about that too.”

Draco said nothing. He couldn’t speak, and he lowered his face so that Black-Evans couldn’t see the truth of his words writ large all over his face.

Tears rolled freely down his face, and he felt the bonds of a lifetime of social conditioning shatter into a million pieces. Between the pair of them, Draco could feel the coiling and sparking of magic; could feel a pure sorcery building up and pressing in a tingle against his skin. Draco had been wrong; entirely blind to who he desperately needed.

Without his highwayman he was but half a soul, bereft and entirely lonely.

Draco heard the Viscount cast the incantation beside him, but he screwed his eyes shut, afraid to look. Afraid to finally see the truth.

“Mirror, mirror, stood here before me… Who will Draco’s truest satisfaction be?”

The Gratification Frame replied in a rich, musical voice. “_Draco Malfoy is a lucky man… His truest satisfaction comes from where this story began..._”

Beside Draco, there was a happy murmur, and he felt his hand being grasped by Black-Evans beside him. “Open your eyes, my darling. You must see your reflection. Your mirror… Your magic has worked, my Lord Draco! Open your eyes, and see the object of your true sexual satisfaction. Well, hopefully more than just sexual satisfaction… For I love you, Draco Malfoy… And if you’ll have me, it would be the greatest honour to spend everyday of the rest of my life filling your own with joy.”

Draco opened his eyes to the vision before him.

The Gratification Frame glowed a deep pink, surrounded by a quivering undulations of raw magic. Inside the frame a reflection of Draco stood full size, a deep smile on his face. The mirror-Draco held hands with a wizard of his own age…

_A wizard with a birds-nest of wild, uncontrollable ebony hair_.

_A wizard with eyes as green and profound as the deepest pools_.

_A wizard with determined chin, golden skin and the loveliest dimples Draco had ever seen_…

Draco held his breath, not daring to believe the truth of the vision before him.

Then, beside him, Draco heard another magical charm being cast; a _Revelio_. Draco spun his head around, and watched, wide-eyed, as the layers of Black-Evan’s make-up disappeared and his wig evaporated into thin air. The man’s clothes transformed too; their garish colours faded, the lace and ruffles retracting back into nothingness.

In the end, the man wore a simple cotton shirt, woollen trousers and leather riding boots. The mask was replaced with wire glasses. Black-Evans had a jagged scar on his forehead, too, one which had been covered up entirely before.

He was, Draco thought, the most wondrous sight he had ever seen. His highwayman, returned entirely to him.

“Salazar,” Draco whispered, feeling his legs go weak, and his heart skip a beat. “It is you… My beloved. My highwayman. My _love_. You reveal yourself to me, at last. I’ve… I’ve missed you this last fortnight. More than you’d ever know-”

“And you’re not disappointed?” the highwayman asked, taking Draco’s arm and pressing it to the side of his face. “With the real wizard behind the mask?”

“I could never be,” Draco replied, his tears falling freely, “not _once_ in a hundred years… but you cannot amuse yourself with my heart once again, highwayman. If you say you love me, then I ask for the honesty that you so demanded of me.”

“Then you shall have it,” the highwayman replied, wiping away Draco’s tears. “I’m sorry I deceived you. My name is Harry, and I fell in love with you from afar… Fell in love with the beautiful man who created such wonderful works of art yet seemed to value himself so poorly.”

Draco looked into Harry’s wide green eyes. There was no malice within them, no devious intent. He squeezed their knitted fingers, hoping that his beloved would continue to speak.

“Your friend Pansy was correct,” Harry said. “I’ve been in England a scant six months. I’ve been working undercover for The Ministry, keeping a close eye on Duke Lucius. There was gossip that reached the ears of the Minister for Magic that your father was once again involved with those who would seek to overthrow him, so I was recalled from France… I used Polyjuice to give me many different faces including that of the fop Black-Evans…. But there was one truth I’d never have imagined. As I spent long days watching your family I fell in love with you Draco… Fell in love with my wondrous mirror maker. I couldn’t take the risk of telling you my true identity until the net had finally fallen upon the Duke.”

Draco felt faint, but Harry caught him by the shoulders and pulled him into a close embrace.

“The Aurors discovered the last of the parchments that were needed to arrest the Duke when they went through his papers last week. There had been several illegal payments to militia… He’ll go to _Azkaban_ for this Draco… Be stripped of his Dukedom.”

“Father is to be arrested?” Draco gasped, relief and shame fighting within his heart. “And you were working alongside the Aurors? But Harry… Everyday my heart broke anew because I believed those forces to be keeping us apart.”

Harry grimaced, his hands holding Draco’s trembling form tightly. “I am sorry for the subterfuge, my darling. Everything had to be in place to collect the evidence, and… And I knew you’d never have merited our love, Draco. Not until you saw us together in the mirror. All I wanted was for you to see yourself as I saw you from afar. Beautiful, valuable, and worth loving for whom he truly is, and not simply as a pawn to be traded and used.”

Draco sat, his head resting on the shoulder of his beloved. His body quaked in shock at Harry’s words, but he couldn’t deny their truth. He thought of the pressure his father had born upon him to marry Astoria so quickly. Her dowry and respectability would have been a far greater prize if Lucius needed to woo the pure-blood of wizarding society after a second _coup d'état_…

“So who are you, Harry?” Draco asked, twisting a coil of his beloveds pitch-black hair around a finger. “Are you a spy, a criminal or a fop? What am I to believe about the man who has shifted my world forever? You demanded my truth, so now I must hear your story.”

“There is little to tell,” Harry replied. “My family name is Potter, a long-established and wealthy wizarding family, though not of peerage. My father James, married young but he and my mother Lily Evans were killed by the tyrannies of the old muggle King, who hated magical folk. I don’t really have any memories of them. They died protecting me. That’s how I got this scar.”

Harry pulled back his fringe, and Draco traced the zigzag scar with his fingertip.

“And after that?” asked Draco. “Who looked after you when your parents died?”

“Afterwards I lived with my Godfather, a good man, and principled too… Sirius looked after me, and taught me that standing by, and letting evil triumph is never an option… And I have lived in France too, as Lady Pansy said, fighting to protect wizards from the Guillotine. The highwayman was but one of my many guises… But this _face_. This _person_. What stands before you today is the truth, Draco. Harry Potter is the person I really am.”

“You’ve lived a good life then, Mr. Harry Potter. Helped people,” Draco murmured, leaning into his beloveds body, enjoying the thrum of his heartbeat and his closeness. It felt like such luxury, and Draco pressed a small kiss against Harry’s cheekbone, simply because he could.

“And yet you’d be willing to give up this life of excitement and action to be with me? I’m but a mirror maker. A spoilt boy who knows nothing of the world.”

“Draco, my love, I do not lie… When we first met, I said that you’d fascinated me for many months. You’re mesmerising. Breathtaking. And so much more than you believe yourself to be. Your journey has made me see _my_ truth too. The only life I want is one beside you. Let me love you for the rest of your life.”

“I do want you,” Draco said, his voice betraying the strength of his feelings. “I want you here, beside me everyday. Want this to be your home too. I love you, Harry.”

“I’m not rich,” Harry replied. “I don’t have worldly goods or a title, but I swear that I’m yours. I’ll be yours forever if you’ll have me. Do you trust me with your heart, Draco Malfoy?”

“My love. _My dear Harry_. I would trust you with my life.”

And for the first time in nineteen years of life Draco was in exactly the place he belonged: in the arms of the man who loved him, accepted him and would do so forever. It mattered not that theirs was a covenant made in private rather than before a packed congregation, for it meant just the same. Theirs was an uncommon sort of love; a passion that Draco knew the world around them would find very little room in their heart to accept inside their lifetimes.

Draco knew that the love between them was as real, as good as any marriage that could be sanctified in the Malfoy Chapel. It didn’t come with a dowry or respectability, but neither of those mattered. His Vertitas Frame had spoken the truth that day, Draco thought happily.

Draco wouldn’t ever marry, not in a church, but what he had found with Harry was far better. Draco had found the love of his life, and he knew that he’d have him for the rest of both their lives.

Draco kissed Harry Potter unhurriedly. There was no need for hurried endearments, or rushed embraces, for his highwayman had promised never to leave him again and they had all the time in the world.

~~~EPILOGUE~~~

# Mirrors, Magic and Miscreants

### Society Gossip from the Quibbler Quill of Romilda V__e

It is a truth universally acknowledged that wizarding England loves nothing more than gossip and scandal, and the new Duke of Wiltshire, Draco Malfoy has certainly enjoyed his fair share during the past year.

Indeed, only one year ago it would have been impossible to imagine the controversial Duke’s triumphant return to form. The Malfoy name seemed destined for infamy with the conviction of the present Duke’s father for treachery and high-treason, and an inexplicable encounter with a highwayman that remains shrouded in mystery to this very day.

Many within wizarding society did doubt the veracity of Duke Draco’s statement and blamed an excess of alcohol for the story. Others alleged that the young Lord had been caught in a compromising position with Miss. Astoria Greengrass with whom he was strongly linked to at the time of this so-called robbery.

The lady in question, an heiress with a previously pristine reputation, has since married herself. Miss. Greengrass’s midnight flit, and decision to marry Mr. Blaise Zabini, Esq, a man of trade has been discussed at length within this very paper.

Indeed, it is the opinion of the author that the new Duke had his hand in this marriage. Tellingly, a precious Slytherin emerald bracelet that was well known to belong to his family was auctioned, and the money gifted to the new Mr. and Mrs. Zabini… The reader must draw their own conclusions.

The new Duke has sworn off marriage forever, and told The Quibbler: _‘I’m afraid that I’d make a very poor husband, for my heart isn’t available. A good friend once said that a title and an obedient wife wouldn’t be enough for me, and she was absolutly correct... Look into my mirrors if you want to understand the real truth of me.’_

An incomprehensible comment from an inscrutable man.

Perhaps the only person on the Earth that truly understands the new Duke is Harry Potter, a dubious character that is never far from Draco Malfoy’s side. It is quite beyond the wit of this publication to understand what makes this particular young man so indispensable to the Duke, but we surmise that Potter must be irreplaceable.

In the past year The _Magical Mirror Emporium_ has become the establishment _du jour_ for the rich, famous and powerful to be seen in, and while expensive, the mirrors are quite the object to behold.

Indeed, they are such a coveted, sought-after item that it was recently announced that Duke Malfoy was to hold an exhibition of his finest works. This is to be held in the Atrium of the Ministry for Magic in October, and the elite of wizarding society are sure to be in attendance.

A source, who wished to remain anonymous, told this publication that: _“it’ll be the event of the season. The world and his wife want to see if the Gratification Frame will be there. And they all want to know who they’ll see when they look inside it...”_

Rumours abound that Duke Draco has created a mirror that shows you the person that you’d receive the most sexual gratification from.

Now, I'm afraid the Quibber cannot confirm or deny the existence of this most contentious object. 

We contacted his Lordship for a comment, and this was all he had to say on the matter of the Gratification Frame: _“Whilst it certainly isn't outside my abilities to create a magical item of this calibre, I have to admit that even I couldn’t abide the chaos such an item would create were it released onto the viewing public… The broken courtships. The heartbreak… My Magical Mirror Emporium is a veritable cornucopia of magical items, but this one, I’m afraid, isn’t available.”_

A very frustrating reply, as readers will no doubt agree.

~~~THE END~~~

**Author's Note:**

> This story was a thrill to write, and I loved the Regency setting. I am quite sure that there are a good few anachronisms within the text but I'm going to take that on the chin. 
> 
> In the eighteenth century when Draco and Harry are living there would have been no vocabulary or understanding within the general population of any identity beyond cisgender and heterosexual. Any understanding of LGBTQIA identity was based upon the sexual _act_, rather than whom a person might love or be attracted to. Even Draco, in the story, thinks initially on these lines. For men 'like him' Draco thinks, 'love is out of the question'. Sexual relations between men was a capital offence in England until 1828. 
> 
> But I hope that the ending is the positive one that Draco deserves. 
> 
> Even if he and Harry are not able to be open to the world about their relationship, I really hope that the twenty-first century isn't the only time in history that queer people have been able to live full lives with the people they love.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading! Please support the author by clicking on the kudos button and leaving a comment below! ♥

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Deep Dark Truthful Mirror](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26988259) by [Ladderofyears](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ladderofyears/pseuds/Ladderofyears)


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